


Of Silence and Songs

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Rent - Larson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-24
Updated: 2007-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1633319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of Mark and Roger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Silence and Songs

**Author's Note:**

> Written for moonlight69

 

 

It was the little things that Mark noticed the most. The way Roger would just smile at him, as they sat sipping coffee and ignoring calls from their parents. The way Roger resisted going out, holing up in the loft with no company but Mark's. 

He'd learned long ago how to spot those moments, how to savor them quickly, tuck them away in his memory, and move on, without losing his step or his smile. 

"Hi, my name is Mark, and I'm naturally awkward because I'm Jewish." Roger's voice was taunting, but friendly, and Mark had to laugh. 

"It's a talent." He shrugged, setting his bag down and unwinding his scarf. "Was it really that bad?"

"No. You did pretty well." He settled more comfortably into the chair, socked feet up on the arm of the couch. "I thought you were going to lose it when Maureen's mom asked if you guys would get back together, but that was about it."

"Yeah. That was...unbelievably awkward." Roger toed his shoes off, dropping onto the couch and sighing deeply. He could still feel the way Roger had touched a hand to his back, letting his palm slide, not wanting to break contact. The simple stroke was enough to hold him up, let him walk away without nervously bitter words. The hand on his back was also what undid Mark. His step had hesitated; his eyes had closed, savoring the feel of Roger's graceful hand sliding across the planes of his back.

Roger rolled out of the chair, sliding the arms of his hoodie sweatshirt up to his elbows. "You want some coffee?"

"Sure. Thanks." Mark waited, head tipped back with his eyes closed, listening to the familiar sounds of Roger moving around; the clatter of cups and spoons, the soft chink as he added just the right amount of sugar to Mark's cup. Without opening his eyes, Mark took the mug a moment later, smiling slightly as the couch shifted under Roger's weight.

Another moment, and the strum of chords; Mark knew that Roger's head would be bent over the strings, hair falling into his face. He opened his eyes, taking a sip of the hot coffee. "Still sounds a bit too much like Musetta's Waltz."

"Thanks. Just what I needed to hear." Roger grinned, knowing that the teasing was just teasing. "I'll get it eventually."

"Just have to have faith." Mark let his lips quirk in a grin, a smile that was ever-so-slightly wider than he normally allowed himself. He slumped more in the couch cushions, letting the delicate sound of the guitar wash over him. These were the moments he loved, sitting quietly with his best friend, silent or not as they wished; it was a comfort they'd both grown used to as the rest of the group moved out or moved on.

Now it was just the two of them in the spacious loft, every noise echoing slightly, amplified by the lack of curtains or rugs. Mark always knew where Roger was in the loft, knew that Roger could tell where he was. But it hadn't bothered either of them in years, and now, it was another comfort, keeping them warm even when they couldn't afford to keep the heat on.

"Are you going out?"

Roger looked up, and their eyes met, shadows beginning to fall across the room as night descended. "Not tonight."

~*~

Mark was never entirely sure when friendship became relationship between them. It happened, slowly and gradually, over the years that they were together, all the sleepless nights they sat up, talking or being silent, Roger strumming on the guitar.

Mark knew he was the only person that was ever allowed to simply sit, and listen, while Roger twiddled with songs and softly sang to himself.

Mark knew, deep down, that he was all that stood between Roger and the ends of despair. It was a relationship, because of all the unspoken words, all the deep glances and subtle hand gestures. A hand on an arm, a hug in a restaurant. Standing that little bit too close, needing the support. Roger was all open nerve endings, too sensitive, too desperate, too...complicated.

Mark was his simplicity, his rock. The one thing that never changed, in a world that was all too sudden in its changes. He would never wake up one day and decide to do heroin. He would never decide to take a bus across the country on a whim. He would never do anything outside the boundaries of safe, and that meant that Roger could count on him.

Mark knew.

He could see it, every time Roger's eyes met his, even when Roger was holding Mimi close, or his hands were caressing the strings of his guitar. He knew that Roger couldn't find the words, not in speech or in song, to determine what exactly they were.

But it was Mark that Roger always returned to. It was Mark that Roger couldn't part from. It was Mark that Roger stayed with, holding firm in their loft, sitting close in the dark, sitting silently as they listened to parents call on the answering machine. It was Mark that Roger stayed near, when out with friends or at events. 

When Roger couldn't handle Mimi anymore, it was Mark who was there to pick up the pieces, to hold Roger together in the dark, candles burning softly on the table. In the darkness, it was always easier for Roger, to pretend that life was sane. Mark knew better, but the lie was an easy one, when the stars were shining and all he could see of Roger was a flash of smile in the shadows.

Mark knew, even if Roger didn't quite. It had never really been friendship between them, and it had never quite been relationship between them and anyone else. Everything was in-between, in the spaces where the two of them didn't quite meet, couldn't quite meet yet.

But as life rushed forward, Mark knew that it would happen. Eventually, ineffably, insatiably.

Then Roger was fleeing to New Mexico, leaving so easily, too easily, no words spoken or needed, just a packed bag and a wave.

Leaving Mark alone in the loft that held too much of both of them, too many memories.

When Roger came back, was suddenly _there_ , steps hurrying across the rooftop to stand so close, but still out of reach.

He hesitated, and in that moment, Mark realized that Roger was beginning to feel it too. That - suddenly - it had become more, become bigger, and neither of them was sure how to cope with that, in that moment when they faced one another again.

But then they were both lunging forward, and hugging, and holding on for seconds too long, listening to the echoed heartbeats and hearing the music of each other's voices, and quietly, both of them knew that space was something that didn't exist between them anymore.

And that was the biggest little thing that Mark was privileged to notice, but it was the one that meant the most to him, as he'd always felt like the one standing aloof and alone, while everyone else was inside a circle without him.

From then on, whenever their eyes met, Mark understood that, for Roger, he was that circle. 

 


End file.
